Hush Little Baby
by Dinkleburgh
Summary: During the years that Jeb was here, I was more of an older sister. Now, I’m forced to be an older sisterleader. [Two months after Jeb 'dies', Max sets out on a latenight mission to comfort a member of the Flock.]


**Note:** This is my first MR fanfiction. I started and finished SOF yesterday, and loved it. I thought about doing a oneshot prior to SOF, as I'm terrible with chaptered fics, but no ideas came into my head. Then, early this morning, one did. It was like a lightbulb, a siren, a whatever-the-heck-you-wish-it-to-be. Why not do a post-Jeb leaving fiction? Max would be about twelve... and from then on I started plotting.

It isn't the best oneshot ever, since I was figuring a lot of it out as I typed. But I tried my hardest to get all of the characters' personalities straight (writing them younger is hard, personality wise!) and I think I did a good job... with Fang. I'm not too sure about the rest, though.

**Sc** means scene change.

I do not own Maximum Ride, nor any of the other characters. I own the plot of this fanfiction and two copies of the original books, but not the books themselves. No suing, thanks.

**sc**

It's been two whole months since he left us, since he left the world. Sometimes I don't think that I'll ever get over it, yet some days I forget that we were ever taken care of by a man named Jeb for two years. That's the easiest way to go about it, for me – forget they ever existed. No mourning. No grieving. No pretending that everything's okay when really you're aching inside.

Just… nothingness.

I seem to be the only one, apart from Fang, who goes on as if nothing happened. The Gasman will occasionally burst into tears, and I can hear Iggy sob from his room late at night, while I reread the only book that Jeb had ever gave me. He gave us all a book a few years after we were smuggled out of the School; I can't recall what books everyone else were given, but Roald Dahl wrote many classics – only one of which I would ever get the chance to read.

I'm twelve-year-old Maximum Ride, and two months ago our 'father' died. He went to buy us groceries from the nearby town, and soon after we heard a gunshot. Fang and I had rushed outside, but all we saw was a bag of groceries next to a patch of red.

Inwardly, that scene still haunted my nightmares.

Outwardly, I was a-okay. I was perfectly fine with the prospect of being thrown into leadership again, when really, I wasn't. Two years I had been free of most responsibilities; Jeb had taken care of that. During the years that Jeb was here, I was more of an older sister. Now, I'm forced to be an older sister/leader.

And it's horrible.

But this brings me to the beginning of my tale. You needed to know the above, trust me. Otherwise it would be _hella_ confusing.

It was nearing one o'clock at night, and I had just finished reading Danny the Champion of the World for what must have been the one thousandth time. Every night I read that book; it was a ritual-of-sorts. I couldn't get to sleep without it.

Much to Iggy's delight.

Well, prior delight.

I had never given much thought to it before, but now it hit me hard. For two months Gazzy had stopped constantly teasing my ritual. For two months Iggy hadn't mentioned my Mickey Mouse alarm clock. For two months Nudge hadn't tuned into the Nudge Channel. For two months Angel hadn't looked at me in those large, adoring four-year-old eyes of hers. For two months Fang hadn't been the strong-and-silent type easily.

For two months all my Flock had ever known was crumbling.

I sighed, stuffing Danny the Champion of the World underneath my pillow and burrowing deep into my blankets. Why me? Why us? Why _anybody_? Why did the scientists at the School have to think that we weren't real, that our lives weren't precious? They were. We were human beings – Avian Americans, thanks to them. If it weren't for those pathetic excuses for human beings, we would be living ordinary lives with parents.

People like Jeb, who cared about us.

Cared about _me_.

But, you know, I've never been the one to cry. Not in public, at least, and definitely not in front of Angel, Fang, Gazzy or Iggy. I didn't want Angel to see me cry, and the others would never let me forget it. Nudge would be fine with it, I think. But I don't really want to let her see that I wasn't invincible.

_Because that would be so terrible._

I frowned, burrowing ever deeper into my blankets. Maybe what Fang had so often said was right. Maybe I _was_ self-centred; what did it matter it Nudge knew that I wasn't invincible, after all? I was only twelve. A twelve-year-old can't be totally independent, no matter what lifestyle they grew up in. They can't always know what to do and when to do it.

Can they?

My frown deepened. Perhaps they could. Perhaps I could develop into the leader that everyone needed, and no longer be the twelve-year-old that was forced into leadership by a sudden death.

Even if that was who I was, and that wouldn't change until my birthday.

I sighed. Soon enough, Iggy would wake up and start crying, and soon enough I'd have to stand outside his door, wait for him to fall asleep again, then sneak in and whisper that everything as alright in his ear. Then he'd relax. Then his breathing would become regular. Then he would stop sniffling.

Then I'd tell myself that I aught to stop lying.

But what was I supposed to do, tell him that everything was the pits and that we'd surely die of hunger three weeks from now? I don't think so.

That wouldn't be a very leader-y thing to do.

After five minutes of waiting, the sobs started. A glance at my alarm clock told me all I needed to know.

"Bingo, 1:06 on the dot." I breathed, slipping off of my mattress and into a pair of Fang's old slippers. I had given my old ones to Nudge, Iggy had given his to the Gasman, and Angel still fit into her slippers. Fang and Iggy's feet probably froze every night, but ever the manly mans, they coped.

Note sarcasm. In no way are they men – Fang might act manly, but they're still boys.

Much to their dislike, but whatever.

Sneaking down the hallway is always fun. The floorboards don't squeak, but they do occasionally give you splinters, which hurts like _h_. I guess you could say that we never got around to getting actual builders around here; there was every chance that they could turn into Erasers, or be scientists from the School. We didn't want to chance going back there. Not now, not ever.

Now the threat of Scholars coming to our house disguised as builders was even scarcer, as we didn't have the money to buy much. Jeb had left enough money in a vault in his office wall, but only Nudge could ever remember the combination, and lately she hadn't been talking much. We survived purely on birthday money that Jeb had given us for our last birthdays – I don't know why he gave us the money, exactly. It's not like we had anything to spend it on.

We went into town once a month now, to buy food. Occasionally we would have to pick up a few clothes or toiletry things, but not often. I don't think I can be much taller, anyway. I was nearing five foot five inches, and for a twelve-year-old, that was massive.

Pursing my lips, I pressed my ear against Iggy's door. The hysterical sobbing didn't grow any louder, which I found odd. Usually it did. Usually, by the time I put my ear to Iggy's door, he had worked up a fit. Tonight was not one of those nights.

I turned around, leaning against the wooden door thoughtfully. The sound should have intensified as I got closer, even if Iggy wasn't being hysterical, yet it hadn't. On second thought, it was softer now than it was at my doorway.

Retracing my steps, I realised that the closer I was to Nudge and Angel's rooms, the louder the crying was. Typical – the one night I wasn't ready to face Iggy (bad incident that night at dinner… don't ask) the God of Tears comes to my rescue, giving one of the girls the weeping habits instead.

Still, I would have preferred for no one to be crying.

But it being Angel or Nudge was better than having to reassure Iggy that everything was fine, I guess.

**sc**

I sat down next to Nudge, but she took no notice of the sinking bed. Her back was towards me, and from what I could see of her eyes, they were ready, puffy, and flooded. I sighed, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

She jumped, and flung a fist backwards, nearly breaking my nose. Crap.

A glance at me made her cheeks turn red, and she sniffled. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Max, I thought you were an Eraser-"

"Obviously." I muttered, pinching my nose with disgust. "Nudge, what's the matter? I'd be an idiot if I said that you appear to be upset, because it's obvious that you _are_ upset. I just don't know why."

She bit her lip. "It's, um, sort of a long story…"

"Nudge, honey, it's one in the morning. I might be tired, but we have all the time in the world."

_Actually, we only have until eight, when Gazzy will want breakfast. But she doesn't need to know that._

"'Kay."

She scooted over and smiled at me, waiting for me to join her in the midst of the blankets.

"So…?"

"Oh, right." An awkward pause. "I think you know the base reason, Max."

I nodded.

"Yeah, well, it stems from there. I've been think – thinking, and it sort of all came back to me in a rush. He used to sing to me, you know, Jeb did. Nursery rhymes. There was one about a grandma's hands, and another about Mary, and even another about a Black Sheep.

"But there was one that I liked the most out of all of them. It was about a mockingbird or something… he sang it to me on my eighth birthday, actually, when I was allowed to stay up and draw. He sat down next to me, pointed at the bird on the piece of paper, and asked me what it was. I said that it was a bird, and he asked me what bird it was. I didn't know, so he asked me if it was a Mockingbird. I just… said yes, without even knowing what a Mockingbird was. And then he started singing, and he wrote down the lyrics."

"That wasn't long, honey," I laughed. I hated myself for ruining her story, but the shortness of it all got to me like nothing else.

"I know, Max." She took a deep breath, and I closed my opened mouth, waiting for her to continue. "It's just… I thought about trying to find that notebook, you know, to see if the song hadn't faded. I tried searching all over the house this afternoon," – it had caused the argument over wasting time between Iggy, Fang and I – "but I couldn't find it, no matter where I looked. I woke up about half an hour ago, I guess, and tried looking once more for it. I couldn't find it, and opened my diary to write about my searches. I don't know how I could have ignored it all this time, but pages with the drawing of the Mockingbird and the lyrics to the rhyme were crammed in there, and when I read it, it all came back to me."

_Okay, that was sort of long._

"Can I see it, Nudge?" I said softly. She nodded, dug under her pillow, and eventually handed me a piece of paper. I read it twice over, and smiled lightly. "Do you want to sing it?"

"Not really. Can you sing it to me, Max?"

"I sing like a whale with a throat ache, honey. You know that."

"I don't want to sing it, though, but I want to hear it. _Please_ Max?" I flinched, and looked away. There was no chance in heck that I was going to fall for the Bambi eyes – no way. I had done some pretty stupid things under the influence of those suckers, and I wasn't going to look into them any time soon.

"Max."

I have this problem, you know. Eighty-seven percent of the time, when someone talks to me I _have_ to look at them. I tried using Jeb's mobile once, when we were newly free. I ended up speaking to a man in Australia, and I was so frustrated with the fact that I couldn't see him that I demanded to know what he looked like. I was hung up on.

What's my point, you ask? This was one time in eighty-seven out of one hundred where I looked at the speaker.

Doom, that's what was coming. Doom.

"Fine. You might want to invest in a pair of earmuffs, though."

"I don't need to – you might want to change the 'papa' to 'mama', though. Otherwise it'll be confusing." Nudge grabbed her pillow and hid her grin behind it, but I could see the twinkle in her eyes. "Unless you're a boy, because Max is a guy's name…"

"Oh, shut up."

"Go on, sing it Max!"

I took a deep breath, and faltered. A rustling sound was coming from Angel's 'nest'. Next second, Angel was stumbling towards us, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "Max's gonna sing?" she mumbled. Nudge nodded, and before I had a chance to prepare myself, Angel ditched sleepiness and jumped on the bed next to us.

"Right… er…"

"Max, _please_!" Angel smiled, eyes adoringly wide.

"Er…"

"Max," said Nudge.

"Yes?"

"Sing. Now."

"She doesn't want to!" Angel cried out, and giggled lazily. "'Cause she's embarrassed or something and thinks Fang or Iggy might be listening outside of the door."

Sometimes I hate the fact that she can read minds. She glared at me, and I laughed a little.

…a little.

"They're not outside, Max. Go on." Nudge urged. "For me and Angel." I saw no use in pointing out how ungrammatical that last sentence was, so I smiled.

_Fang and Iggy better not be listening in, or there'll be some serious yelling going on._

"_Hush little baby, don't say a word,_

_Mama's gonna buy you a mockin'bird_," I croaked.

Angel laid her head on Nudge's knees, and waited impatiently for me to continue.

"_If that mockin'bird don't sing,_

_Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring._

"_If that diamond ring turns brass,_

_Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass._

"_If that looking glass gets broke,_

_Mama's gonna buy you a billy goat._

"_If that billy goat don't pull,_

_Mama's gonna buy you a cart and mule._

"_If that cart and mule turn over,_

_Mama's gonna buy you a dog named Rover._

"_If that dog named Rover won't bark,_

_Mama's gonna buy you a horse and cart._

"_If that horse and cart fall down,_

_Then you'll be the sweetest little baby in town._

"…God, that sounded terrible!"

And it did. I sounded like a fish out of water, but much to my surprise, Nudge was beaming and Angel's eyes were drooping. From boredom? Probably. There was no chance that the lullaby actually worked.

"Thanks, Max," Nudge whispered. She leaned over four-year-old Angel, and placed a kiss on my cheek. I smiled, watching her withdraw into her blankets. "I mean it."

I stood up, and crossed the floorboards to the door. When I opened it, though, I nearly had a heart-attack.

"Nice singing, Max." Fang smirked. "Really."

"Yeah," Iggy smiled. "We checked your Mickey Mouse clock – it's nearly one thirty. What the heck are you doing awake, besides singing to Nudge and Angel?"

"I was reading." _And waiting for you to start crying._

"…Oh. Well, yeah, um, I'll just go back to bed now." With that Iggy was off, sliding down the hallway in his woollen socks, occasionally tripping. I watched him disappear into his room with interest; why hadn't he been crying, tonight? Why were Fang and Iggy both awake? Why had our situation changed overnight?

For those of you who hadn't noticed, let's recap:

Nudge tuned into the Nudge Channel, therefore talked for ages.

Angel looked at me with adoring eyes.

Iggy was making fun of my alarm clock.

And Fang didn't seem to be forcing his teasing.

Where was Gazzy when you need him?

"You know, Max, I meant it." With that, Fang strode back to his door.

I blinked.

He was gone.


End file.
